


sure as shit

by manybumblebees



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, Friends With Benefits, Halloween Costumes, House Party, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, catching feelings, coming out but make it inscrutable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manybumblebees/pseuds/manybumblebees
Summary: Nolan gave up on having any dignity the first time he let TK put a bossy hand on the back of his neck and push him to his knees, so, okay, maybe he is about to let TK fuck him wearing a Mr Incredible costume at a Halloween party with half his teammates in the next room.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 20
Kudos: 480
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	sure as shit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dannybsdadbod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannybsdadbod/gifts).

Of course it's TK who knocks on Nolan's door a few hours into the party. Kevin doesn't knock. He sure as hell won’t knock after hours of questionable drinks and even more questionable music that Nolan can hear him belting along to through the door.

Nolan looks up from where he's lying face-down on his bed and sees TK, leaning on the doorframe in the cheap polyester Mr Incredible costume he showed up to the party in, fake foam muscles and all like he isn't fucking jacked underneath. Idiot.

"Your head alright, buddy?" TK says in a voice that’s only half a whisper, like he's trying to be quiet in case Nolan does have a migraine but wants to make himself heard above the music pounding in the living room, the sound of Ghost shouting something before TK shuts the door on the din.

"All good," Nolan shoots back. He only went into his room to plug in his phone, and maybe to get like, a five-minute break from being the only sober person in a room full of teammates in various stages of drunkenness. Feels like it’s only been five minutes, anyway – according to his phone, it’s been more like forty-five.

“Ahoy, sailor,” he says, scrambling onto the bed and pushing Nolan’s legs apart to kneel between them. Nolan can just see him throw a sloppy salute out the corner of his eye. Kevin had made him do a row of shots as he got in the door, and he probably hasn't stopped drinking since then. “How’s it feel to be in the YMCA?”

Nolan can hear the smirk in his voice. He’s so fucking proud of himself. “Village People,” he mutters. “YMCA is the song.” TK should know. He’d hijacked the Spotify playlist to play it like, seven times tonight.

“Right,” he says, and puts both hands on Nolan’s ass. “So did you lose a bet with Hayesie, or did you just wanna be a tease?”

“Just grabbed the first costume I saw.” 

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth. He grabbed the first costume he saw that he knew his ass would look good in. He picked well, judging by the fact that TK can't keep his hands off it.

Nolan keeps his eyes on his phone, but he’s read the same sentence five times and still doesn’t know what it says. Just doesn’t want to give TK the satisfaction of knowing how easy he is for him.

TK shifts to lean over him, planting his hands on either side of Nolan’s face and then lowering himself to his elbows. “Do you know what you fucking look like?” he says directly into Nolan’s ear, raising goosebumps on the back of Nolan’s neck. He can smell the alcohol on TK’s breath, which he isn’t wild about, but he can also feel his dick pressed up against his ass through both their costumes.

Nolan gave up on having any dignity the first time he let TK put a bossy hand on the back of his neck and push him to his knees (_I didn’t think that would work_, he’d said, with half a laugh, before Nolan sucked his dick into his mouth, and then he hadn’t said anything else coherent for a while), so he rolls his hips to grind back against him.

Letting TK fuck him wearing a Mr Incredible costume at the team Halloween party with half the guys in the next room is definitely a terrible idea, and Nolan’s sober, he should know better, but TK pulls the collar of his costume down and bites the side of his neck, and Nolan thinks briefly about his bedroom door, which doesn’t lock, and Kevin, who doesn’t knock. Whatever, let him walk in.

TK’s costume turns out to be a onesie situation, so it has to come all the way off before he can fuck Nolan, which Nolan’s grateful for.

He fingers him open, making sure to remind Nolan that the music pounding through the wall means he can be as loud as he wants, like it’s a choice, like Nolan isn’t trying not to sound desperately needy for it while TK scissors his fingers inside him, telling him the whole time how good he looks like this. 

Nolan straddles him once he’s lubed himself up, because at least when he’s riding TK he can just kiss him when he wants him to shut up. He grabs his sailor shirt by the hem to pull it off.

“Leave it on,” TK says, smirking. “I like you in that.”

Nolan flushes all the way to his ears, tries not to feel self-conscious with TK’s eyes on while he rides him, his dick streaking precome across the shirt.

He’s grateful when TK twists a hand into the ties knotted at Nolan’s throat to pull him down. He kisses him, mean at first, with a lot of teeth, until Nolan’s lips feel swollen and raw, like everyone’s going to know what they’ve been up to when he goes back to the party. Maybe that was TK’s point, but Nolan’s beyond caring, sinking down to meet TK’s thrusts when he slows down, curls a hand around the back of his neck to hold him there, breathing into his mouth.

It’s too slow, like this, too intense. Nolan can’t stop himself from whimpering into TK’s mouth and TK’s still _talking_, mumbling nonsense. He comes without warning, shaking with it, and Nolan gets a hand on his dick and isn’t far behind.

He collapses on top of TK and stays there until TK rolls him off him. He wipes off the mess on his stomach with the corner of Nolan’s sheet, which Nolan’s too out-of-breath to complain about, then sits on the edge of the bed wriggling back into his costume.

“You do this with him?” he says, after a minute.

There’s a second where Nolan doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and then he takes in the way TK’s studiously not looking at him, fake-casually moving the bits of foam padding of his costume around. Nolan rolls his eyes, even though TK can’t see him do it.

“None of your business.”

He’s not, but like, Jesus Christ.

TK pauses. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Nolan can only see a sliver of his face from this angle, but it’s enough to see the kicked puppy look, the corner of his mouth turned down, eyes huge. Nolan hates that look.

It’s not as if he thought TK would be chill about this. Or maybe he did, a little, at least until the lease on his place ran out and TK immediately offered to let Nolan move in with him in his tiny, barely two-bedroom apartment, and didn’t speak to him for a full day after Nolan said he’d think about it.

He didn’t have to think about it when Kevin offered a few days later, and that’s not – as TK seems to think – because he’s fucking him. It’s just different. TK can say it’s just buds as much as he wants, he’ll still always stay just a minute too long after they hook up, sound a little too hesitant when he offers to get an Uber, like he’s just waiting for Nolan to tell him to stay. He’ll never say it, but he wants more, it’s obvious.

TK reaches behind him and starts on what looks like an attempt to dislocate his own shoulder to zip up the suit. 

Nolan’s pretty sure if he dug into it, really needled and prodded the way TK does with him all the time, and made him say it out loud, he’d only tell him _as long as you’re happy, Pat_. He’d mean it, too. That’s almost worse than if he were a possessive dick about it. That, at least, Nolan would understand, but as it is, he can’t think directly about it for too long before it becomes hard to breathe.

He focuses instead on the zipper on TK’s costume, which is jamming, eating into the cheap polyester and really tearing it to shreds. Nolan sits up enough to bat TK’s hands away and take over. TK looks far too fucking serious for someone half in a Mr Incredible costume.

“I don’t, for the record. With Kev,” Nolan offers to his back, though he doesn’t owe him that. Doesn’t owe him shit.

“It’s not my business, Pat, you’re right,” TK says quietly, glancing at him over his shoulder like he’s about to say it.

_As long as you’re happy._

_Whatever you want_.

He’d said that, when Nolan told him he was moving in with Kev. Not even in a mean way, but like he meant it. “Whatever you want.” Sad little smile. It isn’t his fault that he’s so easy to read, the heart on his sleeve shit, but Nolan really fucking hates the way it’s all over his face when he hurts his feelings.

“I have better taste than that,” Nolan says, though he knows better than to give TK even half a compliment. He just can’t stand that hangdog look.

Nolan lets go of the zipper and strokes a hand down the v of exposed skin on TK’s back, the muscles jumping under his touch. He’s a little fucker, but he’s broad, and he’s more than strong enough to push Nolan around when the mood strikes him. Strong enough to take his weight when Nolan hooks his chin over his shoulder and leans on him. “Can you imagine? Jesus.”

TK laughs, jostling Nolan a little. “Yeah, he’d be like, _You want it hahdah, Patty?_” he says, in the worst fake Boston accent Nolan’s ever heard. It shouldn’t be so funny, but he’s smothering laughter into TK’s shoulder, and it takes him a minute to get himself together enough to try the zipper again.

“I think this is a lost cause, bud,” he adds, with one final tug on the zipper, which shows no intention of moving.

“Oh well,” TK says, and shrugs. Smirks. “Guess I better take this off, then.”

He slips his arms out of the costume, foam muscles bunching weirdly around his waist as he twists around to flatten Nolan back onto the bed.

Turns out, actually, neither of them have another round in them. They make out lazily, TK kissing him with no urgency. He presses a kiss to Nolan’s jaw, then to his neck, and then just sort of tucks his face into the side of his neck and stays there, a solid weight on top of Nolan. It’d be so easy just to let him fall asleep like that, pull the duvet over them both and deal with it in the morning. “It” being Kevin, the nosiest motherfucker Nolan’s ever met, and sneaking TK out of the apartment without having to answer any questions about it.

Nolan’s comfortable. If he turns his head, he can just bury his face in TK’s hair, pass out like that to the sound of TK breathing. Instead, he sighs, and makes an attempt at heaving TK off him.

“Bud, let’s go. I hear there’s a party.”

TK mumbles something, half asleep, but finally pushes up and off the bed. He kicks off the ruined costume.

“Can I borrow some sweats?”

Nolan shrugs and waves a vague hand at his chest of drawers. “Nothing with a number on it.”

He puts his boxers and the white sailor pants back on while TK digs up a pair of inoffensive grey sweats and a plain black tee, which is somehow tight on him in the shoulders. Nolan watches TK roll up the cuffs on the sweats -- roll and roll and roll -- and spares a second to laugh at him for it while he tries to fix the tie on his shirt so it looks less like he just got fucked in it. It’s a lost cause, much like TK’s costume. All he can do is hope that everyone else is too drunk to notice.

Most of the guys have left by the time they slip out of Nolan’s bedroom. It’s pretty much just Jakey and Raf left, embroiled in an intense argument about something over the fourth rotation of Kevin’s Halloween playlist that he spent a full week curating. Nolan turns off the music and herds them out the door with some bullshit about neighbours and noise complaints, and when he gets back to the living room TK’s wandering around with a trash bag that he’s throwing empties in.

“Kev can do that tomorrow,” Nolan says.

Kev’s not going to be in any state to do anything tomorrow, judging by the way he’s passed out in the bean bag, mouth open. Nolan does him a solid by not immediately taking a picture and putting it on the group chat. He’s lights out, doesn’t even stir when TK steps over his legs and swipes a whole row of beer bottles into the bag from the coffee table.

“I don’t mind,” says TK, and throws another beer can into the bag.

It’s nice of him to help clean up, but it’s also like, a blatant excuse to stay longer, see if maybe Nolan will let him stay over.

“I’ll call you an Uber, dude,” Nolan says, and pulls the app up before he can argue. Makes sure not to look up from the phone in case TK’s doing the face. They get most of the bottles and cups cleared away by the time TK’s ride arrives, so at least Nolan’s scoring some roomie points, even if he did disappear for half the party Kevin’s been obsessed with for the last two weeks.

He walks TK to the door for no reason other than to make sure he like, actually leaves.

“Wanna grab dinner tomorrow?” TK says, shrugging into his coat.

“Sure.”

“Alright, I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds good,” says Nolan, and as he’s saying it TK’s stepping closer, and then he kisses him, a little soft but with enough tongue that Nolan leans in to chase him when he pulls away, smiling.

“See you tomorrow,” TK says, still smiling, and slips out the door.

So that just happened. 

He stands dumbly in the hallway staring at the closed door for a second before deciding he is not thinking about this, at least not until the morning. Didn’t happen.

He can hear Kevin snoring from here, and walks back to the living room.

“Hayesie,” he says, and flicks Kevin’s cheek until he stirs. “Time for bed, dude.”

"Wha," says Kevin. He rubs a hand across his face and stretches, all four limbs at once, like a big dumb drunk starfish. "I want pancakes," he announces, trying to wriggle up out of the bean bag. Nolan could give him a hand, but it's funnier not to, so he just stands five feet away scrolling down his Instagram feed, which is mostly shaky videos of Oskar and Bobby singing ABBA, while Kevin struggles.

"It's four in the morning."

Kevin manages to heave himself to his feet. "Yeah, breakfast time."

Kevin still isn’t wearing a shirt, which seems like a safety hazard, but Nolan’s too tired to mention it and deal with his probably-still-drunk levels of pigheadedness. If he wants a grease burn on his nipple, so be it.

He makes Nolan coffee, too, so at least there’s that. Seems like the worst idea he’s had yet, and that’s saying something, before Nolan remembers Kevin got in decaf just for him. He slides a big mug of it over the counter island where Nolan’s slumped in a stool before he sets about turning the kitchen into an absolute war zone in the process of making pancakes. Nolan could help, but again, it’s funnier not to.

“Good party,” Nolan offers, mostly just to check that Kev’s still like, with it, and hasn’t zoned out near a lit stove.

“Yeah? How would you know, bud?” He turns around, brandishing a spatula at Nolan accusingly and splattering pancake batter everywhere in the process. “Where the fuck were you?”

Nolan shrugs. “Hung out in my room a bit.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. “Yeah, hung out in your room with Teeksy, jerking each other off.” He punctuates the statement with a rude hand gesture, and more pancake batter hits the kitchen cupboards, which is whatever. The whole thing – the pancake batter, the fucking jokes. It doesn’t like, bother Nolan. He heard it for like a year and a half before he and TK ever actually hooked up, he’s used to it.

“Pretty much,” he says, casual, like he’s joking, too, and stares at Kevin until he laughs.

“Got the hots for Mr Incredible, huh? Gonna start calling you Elastigirl.”

“Don’t,” he protests half-heartedly. Like there’s any stopping Kev when he’s got his mind set on a nickname. Just ask Carter.

Nolan wonders if making pancakes shirtless is like, prohibited by their contracts, the way they’re not supposed to go snowboarding in the bye week in case they break something.

Thing is, he thinks, out of nowhere-- TK isn’t tall enough to kiss him unless Nolan’s bending down to let him. He sits with that thought for a minute, let's it kick around in his head. Maybe he’s looking a little vacant, because Kevin leans over to wave the damn spatula in his face.

“Something bothering you?”

“No,” Nolan lies. “Just tired.”

Kevin’s still looking at him, spatula in hand, his face open and friendly, like you can trust him with shit. Like Nolan could tell him anything and he’d just shrug and say “Cool” and go back to making pancakes. No judgment.

Kind of like how TK is. And look where that got them-- TK sitting on the edge of his bed trying to zip up his costume and asking Nolan if Kevin’s been railing him. Fucking idiot. _Hahdah._

Nolan snorts and tries to cover for it by taking a too-large gulp of his too-hot coffee. It burns his mouth and then his throat the whole way down, and Nolan coughs until there’s tears in his eyes, and as he’s bending over on the bar stool with his head between his knees trying to breathe, one hand clamped to the countertop so he doesn’t fall right off, he’s thinking TK’s a fucking idiot, a real jealous bitch, and Nolan let him kiss him goodbye like they’re fuckin’--- something they’re not.

There’s coffee coming out his nose.

Kevin’s coming around the counter island to slap him on the back, which does nothing other than nearly knock Nolan off the stool. He’s trying. He likes to feel useful.

“You alright, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Nolan lies again, and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

There’s going from zero to a thousand in the blink of an eye, and then there’s spinning your wheels, and maybe in between there’s something like a compromise.

There’s Nolan saying “Kev,” so he’ll turn around again, eyebrows halfway up to his hairline. Nolan’s voice is still a little wrecked from nearly choking to death on coffee. 

“I gotta say something, but you gotta promise you won’t ask any questions.”

Kevin’s eyebrows complete their journey upwards. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and looks at Nolan expectantly.

Nolan’s mouth goes dry, and he wants to backtrack, but he didn’t get to where he is by tapping out when shit gets hard. He clears his throat, regrets it instantly. It’s not like he’s trying to make a fucking speech here. Maybe he should be tapping his knife against his water glass, too. Get to his feet. Fuck– just– get it out. Get it over with.

“Uh–” he says, and pauses long enough that he starts to worry the words just won’t come. “TK might be staying over every once in a while,” he manages, trying hard not to mumble so he doesn’t have to repeat himself. His cheeks are flaming. “If that’s cool.”

Kevin blinks at him like he’s waiting for more. “Oh,” he says, finally. “Yeah, no big. I’ll move some of my shit out of the guest room.”

Nolan says nothing long enough that Kevin starts turning back to the waffle iron. Fuck it. He takes a breath, throws the last shreds of his dignity to the wind.

“Don’t need to.”

His whole face feels hot, fuck. He probably looks like a fucking idiot. He’s staring right at Kevin, so he can see the question arrive on his face, and then his mouth opens like he’s gonna ask and snaps closed again when he remembers he’s not supposed to. It’d be pretty funny if Nolan didn’t feel like sinking through the floor.

Kevin blinks.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s cool.”

He goes back to making pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the kathleen edwards song by the same name, which i will put on every tk/patty playlist.
> 
> podfic, remixes, and other transformative works welcome, as long as they're archive-locked. 🖤 i'm on [twitter](http://twitter.com/manybumblebees).


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